Where Were You
by Nora Lou
Summary: Where were the Reagans on 9/11?  To pay tribute to our favorite city, New York.


"Where Were You?"

By

Rebecca S. Smithey

And

Nora Lou Wilson

Disclaimer: "Blue Bloods" belongs to CBS television. No copyright infringement is intended. We only want to take the characters out and pay tribute to them. We have done our best with research on the timing of events, logistics, locations, etc. We did use some specific acts seen or reported that day to aid in the realism. Any errors on our part were purely unintentional.

We would like to thank Melody Wilde for her beta reading abilities.

**This story is dedicated to all those families who were affected by the tragic events of September 11, 2001. So I guess that means all of us.**

**Present Day**

For the Reagan family, Saturday mornings had always been the time to do all the chores and run the errands that had accumulated during the week. This particular Saturday was no different, and for Frank Reagan, that meant taking his grandsons to get their haircuts at a local barber shop. It wasn't something that he particularly wanted to do, but he only had himself to blame. At their last Sunday dinner, he had badgered his grandsons so badly about the length of their hair that Linda had finally "volunteered" him to take them.

"I've been waiting for over a year for Danny to have a full week-end off so we could go away together. The reservations at the hotel have been booked for three months," Linda said. "If you think they need haircuts, then **you** get to take them."

Linda had dropped the boys off after school on Friday for the weekend, and early Saturday morning found the three of them at a small barbershop in Brooklyn that Frank had frequented for many years. He promised them breakfast at their favorite pancake house when they were through. After a lively discussion about "high and tights" and "buzz cuts", a compromise was reached, and the freshly groomed boys were diving into stacks of pancakes: blueberry for Jack and Sean got banana.

"With chocolate chips?" Sean asked hopefully.

"No chocolate," Frank said.

"But you're our grandpa, it's your job to spoil us," Sean said.

"Yes, but it's also my job to watch over you this weekend, so **no** chocolate at breakfast." He watched Sean's face fall, then added, "maybe for lunch…"

While the boys ate their fill, Frank worked his way through the morning paper, a bagel and a cup of coffee. At some point, Sean reached over and picked up a section of the paper then began to flip through it. _Probably looking for the comics._

Frank was in the middle of the sports section when he heard Sean say "Hey Grandpa! Is this your picture?" He started to tell Sean that his job as police commissioner meant that his picture was frequently in the paper, but the words stuck in his throat when Sean slid the paper across the table.

Underneath an article titled "Faces of 9-11" there were pictures of police officers, firefighters and emergency personnel. He would never be able to forget that day, but he had been so busy lately that, sadly, the anniversary had slipped up on him this year. He studied the pictures then looked into the face of his youngest grandchild, born a few years after that terrible September day.

"Yes, Sean. That's me."

"Where were _**you**_ on September 11, Grandpa?"

**September 11, 2001**

**6:00 a.m.**

When the alarm went off in Frank Reagan's bedroom, he rolled over and reached out for Mary. The other side of the queen-sized bed was empty, but the smell of coffee wafting up the stairs from the kitchen told him that his wife of twenty-six years was already awake and making breakfast.

He got out of bed, shrugged into his robe and slippers then headed down the hallway. He paused long enough to knock on his son Jamie's door. "Time to get up son!" he called. "You've got early practice!"

"I'm up, Dad!" He heard his fifteen-year-old son call out followed by the sounds of Jamie moving around the room. He headed down the stairs, and could now smell bacon, eggs and toast, as well.

In the kitchen, Mary was finishing breakfast and packing lunches for Frank, Jamie and Joe. A laundry basket stood near the back door, filled with clean clothes and she smiled as she looked at the clean wash. Their son Joe, one year out of the police academy, had declared his independence and moved out – all the way to a small apartment over their garage. He still ate most meals here and she still washed his clothes.

As Frank came into the kitchen, she planted a kiss on his cheek and handed him a cup of coffee. "Did you wake Jamie?"

"He's up. I heard him moving around." He nodded toward three paper sacks lined up on the counter as he fixed himself a plate of food. "What's for lunch?"

"Your favorite – corned beef on rye."

He smiled at her. "Have I told you today how much I love you?"

"No, you just woke up, you big, dumb, Mick cop – now sit down and eat breakfast."

"Watch your tongue, Woman-of-the-house!" It was their morning ritual – a private joke they had shared since their very first morning as husband and wife. Their favorite movie had always been _The Quiet Man_.

Jamie came shuffling into the kitchen, his eyes still puffy from sleep but his hair wet from a quick shower. He was dressed in sweats and a letterman's jacket from St. Brendan's High School with the letter he earned in track on the front. He carried a duffel bag filled with his school uniform: khaki slacks, a light blue dress shirt and a tie. "Dad," he asked, "did you eat all the bacon?"

"I'll eat all the bacon I want, young man. I _**am**_ the man of the house."

Jamie turned toward the refrigerator but not before muttering "only when Mom isn't here…"

The phone rang as the two of them bickered and Mary moved to answer it. "Reagan residence;" she said, with all the professional calm gained from years of being the wife of an NYPD cop.

"Mom?" She heard her daughter's voice over the phone and behind Erin, Mary could hear the sound of crying.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?" She saw Frank look up, concern in his eyes. Erin had been having problems in her marriage lately, but she and Frank were trying their best to stay out of it, which wasn't always easy.

"Mom, I'm fine, and so is John, but he's out of town taking a deposition upstate, and I need a favor."

"Name it."

"I've got a bar exam study group meeting this morning, and Nikki has a bad earache. She can't go to daycare. Can you watch her, please?"

Erin had graduated from the NYU law school the previous summer, all while balancing a marriage and a very precocious four-year-old daughter. Taking the bar exam was the next step. If Mary could help her at all then…"Of course, sweetie. Bring that baby to me."

Mary sat down to enjoy her breakfast just as Joe, already in uniform, came in the back door.

"Come eat, son," Frank motioned to Joe as his son picked up the basket of clean clothes and a lunch bag.

"Thanks, Dad," Joe said, "but I asked Grandpa to meet me for breakfast before roll call." He turned to go, "Love you guys!"

Frank smiled at his son's quiet benevolence. His own father, Henry, had only recently been forced into retirement, and was at loose ends now. He and Mary had talked about ways to help Pop through it all, but they hadn't come up with anything concrete yet. Meanwhile Joe was apparently reaching out to help on his own.

He finished his breakfast, took a last sip of coffee and got to his feet. "I better get ready for work." He put a hand on Jamie's shoulder. "Have a good day at school, son." Then he looked at his wife. "Are we going to vote today?" he asked her. Today was the city's primary election day.

"You know I always do my civic duty, Frank." She touched his face. "We'll go together when you get home this evening."

He winked at Mary before heading upstairs.

**7:00am**

Erin Reagan-Boyle pulled her small sedan into the driveway of her parents' house just as another vehicle rolled to a stop at the front curb. _Mom is going to be jumping for joy today _she thought, _with both of her grandchildren under her roof. Nikki will be impossible when I pick her up this afternoon. Oh, well. Beggars can't be choosers._ As she got Nikki out of her car seat, her brother Danny came across the lawn with Jack, her one-year-old nephew, in his arms.

"I just dropped Linda off at work," he explained, "and Mom drew the short straw for baby-sitting duty." Danny's wife Linda worked as a trauma nurse at King's General while he was in his third year as an NYPD officer. He was soon going to take the exams to move up, but now he was in uniform on his way to the 1st Precinct in South Manhattan. Ironically, he and Joe worked out of the same station but Joe's status as a rookie meant they traveled in different circles. He shifted a still sleeping toddler to his left shoulder and tucked Nikki playfully under her chin. "Playin' hooky from day care, kiddo?"

"My ear hurts, Unca Danny," Nikki cried. "I don't feel good and Mommy has to go _study_, so Grandma's gonna take care of me'" she explained with all the seriousness a four-year-old could muster.

"Study?" Danny looked at his sister quizzically, "Didn't you just **graduate** or somethin'?"

"Bar exam study group," Erin said as she opened the front door. Their mother met them with open arms, and immediately took charge of the youngsters – just as they knew she would.

Shortly before the arrival of Danny, Erin and his grandchildren, Frank pulled his station wagon out of the driveway and headed through the neighborhood toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Up ahead, he could just make out Jamie on his ten-speed, headed for St. Brendan's, before his son disappeared around a corner.

It looked like it was shaping up to be a beautiful day. The sky over the city was a clear cerulean blue and the air coming in through the open window felt clean. It was September, but it was still warm.

After rolling off the Brooklyn Bridge, Frank headed to One Police Plaza, where he had recently been promoted to the position of Chief of Detectives. The newness of his position was starting to wear off and he now felt at home at 1PP. He was proud of the men and women of his command, and felt they were one of the top-notch units in the city. His com-stats were beginning to reflect that, as well.

The first agenda of the day was the final chiefs' briefing with the Police Commissioner before the elections got underway. There were always final details to go over before the polling places opened to the public. He did not look forward to meeting with the Police Commissioner; it could not be anything but awkward between them because the man, along with the mayor, had a hand in recently forcing Pop out of that same office. Frank respected the office of the Police Commissioner; the jury was still out on the man himself.

He found parking near One Police Plaza and made his way to the briefing room, briefcase in hand. He expected the meeting to go well into the morning as polling places began to open, so he grabbed a cup of coffee, settled into his seat and spoke with the other station chiefs as they began to filter in.

Joseph Connor Reagan spotted his grandfather sitting at a table near the window of his favorite deli near St. John's Park on Hudson. The older man slowly got to his feet, wincing, but gave Joe a bright smile as they embraced.

"The hip still bothering you, Grandpa?" Joe asked as the server brought them coffee.

"It comes and goes, but it's not bad. The doc says I need a hip replacement, but I don't know about that."

"What does Grandma say?"

"She says I should listen to the doctor."

"Well, she is the boss."

"Humph! I think she's just looking to get me outta her hair for a few days."

"Why's that?"

"I've been driving her crazy since I got fired and under her feet all day." Hank's face clouded over; then he made a conscious effort to smile. "But enough about the old man, son, tell me what's going on in your world."

**8:00a.m.**

Linda Reagan sat at a desk in a small windowless cubicle inside King's County E.R., mentally going over her day's routine. After several years of working as a nurse on the floor, she had finally become the nurse in charge of operations for the emergency room and trauma unit. Right now, the E.R. was not all that busy, but she knew that quiet moments like these were few and far between.

As she sipped her coffee and reviewed notes on the patients that were being treated at the time, she forced herself not to call her mother-in-law to check up on Jack. She hated being away from him for any length of time, but a cop's salary only went so far if they wanted a house of their own someday. They needed the second income, and besides, Jack adored his grandmother, who doted on him.

She glanced over at a small picture of Jack, taken only a few days ago. _He's growing up so __FAST_she thought. They'd been struggling for the last few weeks with the first stages of potty training, and last night had been…

"…his very first dry night! What a kid!" Danny Reagan was bragging to anyone within earshot as he left roll call and headed out to the lot where his RMP was parked. Across the lot, he saw his brother Joe and he gave him a quick thumbs up by way of greeting. Joe nodded and Danny watched Joe turn back to listen intently to what his training officer, Renzulli, was telling him.

"Whatever happened to the Danny Reagan we all know and despise," Danny's partner, Julio Degas, said. "We used to hear all about the girls…the clubs… the girls…the booze and the girls; now all we get is how his kid don't pee his diaper no more!"

Danny grinned, "The old Danny Reagan doesn't exist anymore. He found the love of his life and started makin' babies with her." He reached into the lining of his officer's cap and removed a small picture of a tow-headed toddler clutching a teddy bear. "Wanna see the new picture, Sarge?"

When they got to their RMP, Danny got into the passenger seat, buckled in, and let dispatch know that he and his partner were now available. The 1st Precinct was located at the very southern end of Manhattan, so they began their day's patrol not far from Battery Park and the Staten Island Ferry. His partner, a ten-year veteran, started chuckling softly as they passed a near-by bus stop.

"What's up, Sarge?" Danny asked.

"Remember the women from Tennessee who flagged us down right there last May?"

Danny nodded. A couple of tourists just off the ferry had been standing and waiting at the bus stop to head uptown when they had noticed the official sign posted overhead: NO STANDING.

"What are you supposed to do while you're waitin' on the bus…squat on the curb?" Danny quoted in a heavily accented Southern drawl.

He would later recall that to be the last time he and his partner would share a laugh for many days.

Joe Reagan and his training officer, Renzulli, were in their RMP, beginning their tour with a bagel and coffee for Renzulli from a deli on Canal Street. It had been a beautiful but uneventful morning so far, and Joe was telling Renzulli a little about his early breakfast with his grandfather.

"He doesn't say it, but I know he misses it," Joe said, "the job…."

Renzulli nodded. "A lot of old-timers are like that." He paused for a moment. "Hell, when it's time for me to turn in my papers, I'll be just like that!"

**8:00 a.m.**

A few blocks away to the north, Erin walked from the subway station to a small restaurant mainly peopled by law students near the New York City Law School Library. She had left her small car at home, because she wasn't sure how long this study group would last, and she did not want to risk getting towed and having to tell her father about it. She took a seat with several of her classmates. This place was at a convenient location, they served the best cappuccino in town and they could always pop over to the library to check a reference if they needed to. At this time of the morning, it was just beginning to get busy. The only background noise for their study sessions came from a small television set on the wall behind the cash register.

They had spread their study notes out across the table and were beginning to attack the material. Supplied by ample amounts of coffee from the server, they planned to study for the bar exam all day if they had to.

Fresh from another shower after practice, Jamie Reagan slid into his seat just as the bell rang for the first class of the day, American History. When his teacher, one of the few nuns still teaching in the parish, rose to her feet, the class did the same. They all made the sign of the cross and began to recite a decade of the Rosary, followed by the Pledge of Allegiance. _St. Brendan's was nothing if not traditional_, Jamie thought. Jamie liked Sister Albertine, a slightly built woman with a quick smile and the gifts of a natural teacher. This early in the term, they were still working their way through colonial history. Sister brought the period to life so vividly that Jamie could almost feel the biting cold of Valley Forge in the classroom, despite a beautiful warm day outside.

Mary Reagan poured a cup of coffee for herself and another for Frank's mother, Betty, who had just arrived and then the two women walked from the kitchen into the living room, chatting quietly together. Jack was banging a red plastic hammer against the other toys in his playpen, which Mary had wisely centered away from anything else. He had the annoying and dangerous habit of pulling anything he could reach into his playpen right on top of himself to play with, just as his father used to do.

Nikki was lying on the couch, with ear drops and a cotton ball packed in her ear with a heating pad placed over that for good measure. She looked thoroughly miserable, but was trying to keep herself occupied with _Sesame Street_ on the television. "Does the baby have to make so much noise…it hurts my ear," she whined.

"Would you like to go up and rest in Grandma's big bed?"

"Uh-huh."

Mary got to her feet, picked up her granddaughter and started up the stairs with her. The children's pain medicine Mary had given her a bit ago was beginning to take effect and Nikki was asleep before Mary got to the top landing.

She laid Nikki on the bed and tucked her in, then Mary returned to the living room and settled onto the couch facing Betty in the lounge chair. Mary had always gotten along well with her mother-in-law, sometimes even better than she did with her own mother. They were talking about the menu for next Sunday's family dinner, what they planned to donate to the church bazaar and how to get Hank to see a specialist about his hip. Then the phone rang… and the world changed.

**8:48 a.m.**

The chief's briefing at the P.C.'s office was just beginning to break up when the sound of an explosion could be heard from outside the windows. There had been major construction going on in the city for some time, so there was not an immediate sense of danger. However, a sudden increase in the flurry of activity in the halls, accompanied by cell phones beginning to sound, caught Frank Reagan's attention. One of the P.C.'s assistants came into the room. Normally a calm, competent woman, she looked flustered as she handed the P.C. a hastily scribbled note. He read it through, looked at her and said, "Is this confirmed?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

He glanced at the note again then read it aloud. "At 8:48 a.m., an explosion occurred in Tower One of the World Trade Center. There are also reports that a plane has crashed into the tower. His voice shook, but he remained calm, "Chiefs, let's get to our stations and get to work. I'll go over to the emergency command center and see what the hell is really going on."

As they all rose to leave, Frank pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed his home number. Mary answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart. Did you forget your lunch again?"

"No, my sandwich is fine. Is the t.v. on?"

"Yes…we're watching _Sesame Street."_

"You might want to change the channel."

"Why? What is going on?"

"Not sure, but I'll let you know."

"Be careful, sweetheart."

"Always. Love you." He hung up.

Mary went over to the television and did as Frank had asked, changing the channel to CBS. She liked to watch Bryant Gumbel, but now, instead of Bryant's image on the screen, she could see smoke billowing out of the upper stories of one of the towers at the World Trade Center.

_This has to be some kind of horrible accident, _she thought. Everyone in New York City had heard the stories of how a military plane had once crashed into the Empire State Building during bad weather. But the skies today were amazingly, beautifully clear.

She had been in the city in 1993 when the bombs had gone off in the basement of the Trade Center. She thought of all the people she knew who worked in those buildings, and prayed that they were not at work yet.

Still, despite a growing fear in her heart, she could not believe that this had been anything but an accident.

"Oh dear Lord," Betty whispered. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," Mary replied, "but I think we better pray."

The two women sat together on the couch, reciting the Rosary. Nearby, Jack sat in his playpen. He could feel something of the mood that had suddenly come into the room. The little boy dropped his toy and sat silent and wide-eyed, sucking his thumb.

**8:45 a.m.**

Erin looked up from her books long enough to sip at her coffee. She loved this shop. It was quiet – even in this part of the city, and convenient. She was searching her memory for a torte she had read the night before, and she glanced at the clock on the wall behind the counter. Her mind was not on the law as much as it should have been– she was really checking to see if it was too early to call her mother and check on Nikki again. She had already called once. _8:45…maybe I should wait a little while longer…_she thought to herself. She turned back to her notes with a sigh, but not for very long.

**8:48 a.m.**

Erin and the rest of her classmates looked up from their notes as a thunderous roar of an explosion rattled the windows and shattered their concentration. One of the waiters ran outside, looked around and came back in with a look of shock and horror on his face.

"Something's happened at the Trade Center!" He gasped. "It's on fire!"

Danny Reagan watched an American Airlines passenger jet come in over the city, probably on its final approach to LaGuardia. But there was something wrong…_no visible landing gear…coming in way too fast…too low…_ He could hear the whine of the jet engines through his open window.

"Oh My God," he gasped as he watched the plane slam into the side of the World Trade Center tower. He thought his heart would rip itself out of his chest, it was thumping so hard. His voice shook as he called the report into dispatch. Degas flipped on the lights and sirens and they drove toward the scene of the crash as a rainstorm of debris began to fall around them.

After breakfast with his grandson, Hank Reagan had planned on catching the R-Train back to Brooklyn right away, but here he was, still sitting at the deli, sipping coffee, reading the newspaper and only half-listening to the morning news coming from a nearby television set. _Retired or not, this is still my city, and I like being down here_. _So long as I pay up and make nice with the staff, I can stay down here as long as I please._

Suddenly, an explosion knocked the coffee cup right out of his hands. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" he gasped. His instincts, honed from decades on the job, kicked into high gear because that was no ordinary construction blast. His hip pain (and his tab) forgotten, he ran outside and headed toward the fire and smoke now coming from the World Trade Center.

Only a few blocks away from where his brother had witnessed the plane crash into the tower, Joe had not seen the event first hand. He had been busy trying to give a group of Romanian tourists the directions to the nearest subway station. Unfortunately, none of the tourists spoke much English, and all Joe knew about Romania had come from Bram Stoker.

But they all heard the explosion and saw the orange fireball erupt from the tower. While the tourists looked on in confusion, Joe and Renzulli jumped into their RMP, tore away from the curb and, like everyone else in uniform that day, headed toward the flames and debris.

**9:03 a.m.**

Linda was going over the previous shift's nursing notes. A small radio on her desk was tuned to the local CBS radio affiliate, and she heard a preliminary report from a broadcaster there. "We have unconfirmed reports that a plane has struck the World Trade Center…"

At once, she thought of Danny, assigned to the First Precinct in the heart of that area. As if he could read her thoughts, her office phone rang and she heard his voice.

"I'm going down there, babe," he said.

"How bad is it?"

"It's bad…really bad"

"Oh, dear Lord…be careful, Danny…I love you.."

"I love you more," he replied.

"I love you most."

Danny hung up. Their little, private ritual told her more about Danny's frame of mind than anything else could. The fact that he was willing to say that he loved her in front of his partner, instead of putting on some machismo act, told her just how scared her husband really was.

She made a deliberate effort to push those thoughts away. Like Danny, she had a job to do. She moved into the trauma unit of the E.R. and began to oversee the set-up of the triage area. If a plane really had hit the World Trade Center, then every hospital in the area would be pressed into service to help the victims.

At the moment though, the E.R. was eerily quiet. There had been some patients processed earlier, who had been transferred to other departments or dismissed. There were two televisions in the E.R. reception area so patients could occupy themselves while waiting for treatment. Somebody had turned them on, and now everyone could see smoke and flames pouring from the North Tower. And while they stood there watching, a second plane came onto the screen, and she cried out when she saw the plane slam into the second tower.

It all felt surreal. Her heart thumping, she took a ragged breath.

There would be hundreds – if not thousands – of casualties, and her mind shut down for a moment with an overwhelming sense of despair. She knew people who worked in those towers; people who lived in their neighborhood, whose kids played with Jack on the playground. _What has happened to them?_

Then, after a moment, Linda called upon her training to push the despair deep inside herself until she had the luxury of time to deal with it. _I am a professional…I am a professional…_ That became her mantra as she and the rest of her team began to assemble supplies and set up extra trauma units.

Very soon, people began to arrive – not as patients but as blood donors. She directed them to the lab downstairs. And still they waited for victims to come in…

**9:03 a.m.**

Within a very few minutes after Danny had seen the jet slam into the World Trade Center, he and his partner, Sergeant Julio Degas, were out of their RMP and helping establish a perimeter. They stood a few blocks to the northeast.

A steady stream of people kept flowing past them. Most of them were uninjured, but they all wore a sort of stunned look of disbelief on their faces.

Danny knew how they felt. He turned to Degas, his partner for the past year. He really admired the wiry, energetic immigrant from Haiti. A ten-year stint on the job had not robbed him of a hearty laugh. But no one was laughing now. "Sarge, I keep trying to tell myself that this is some kind of a nightmare, and I keep wantin' to wake up, but I can't, you know?"

"This ain't no nightmare, Reagan," Degas shot back. "This is a friggin' horror movie!"

Very soon after, they started to see injured people – some had apparently been struck by flying debris, and others had made their way out of the tower even though they were bleeding or burned.

First aid stations were rapidly being created on street corners, on the steps of schools, or in small parks. One station had appeared, like a mirage from thin air, at a nearby church.

Danny and Julio helped carry one man to an ambulance parked in front of the church. He was conscious, bleeding badly and in horrible pain, but he forced himself to keep talking.

"I was in the lobby," he gasped. "I heard an explosion, and I must have been blown through a window…can someone call my wife…please, can you call my wife?"

At that moment, Danny wished he could call Linda – or better yet – hold her close and wish this hell away.

It must have been several minutes, but to Danny, it felt like only a few seconds had passed since he'd seen that American Airlines jet plow into the tower. Suddenly, a blast rocked the street, and another storm of debris was falling around him. He looked toward the World Trade Center, and saw orange flame and black smoke roaring out of the South Tower.

The radio crackled. "All units…be advised…second jet seen crashing into World Trade Center South tower…say again…second…"

Danny felt sick with rage. One jet might be an accident, but two had to be terrorists. _They knocked us on our asses today," _he thought, _but God help them when we get back up and go after those sons of bitches!"_

Mary and Betty sat watching the news unfold from the CBS affiliate. One tower was in flames. From one corner of the television screen, another airliner could be seen entering the picture. Suddenly, it slammed into the South Tower, and an ugly red fireball erupted from the building.

Both women began to cry, echoed by Jack's wails. Too little to understand, he was reacting, engulfed by the wave of fear and sorrow that suddenly filled the house.

Frank Reagan left One Police Plaza and headed toward the scene of the attack. He tried to call home again, but he couldn't get a signal. Either the lines were jammed or the nearest cell towers were out of service. Suddenly, the whine of a jet flying much too low was followed by a deafening roar from over his shoulder. He stopped, and looked southward. A huge fireball had bloomed out of the North Tower. _**Both**_ towers were now in flames, and there were gaping holes torn into the façade of both buildings. This was no accident. This was terrorism, pure and simple. Back in 1993, shortly after the bombs had gone off in the basement of the WTC, one of the conspirators had told federal authorities that given enough time and money, they would strike again. Apparently that had not been an empty threat.

He felt the anger rise up in his throat like bile. He was not afraid for himself, but for all those innocent souls up there, trapped in the towers. He ran south, debris beginning to rain down all around him. As he got to the corner, he saw a large piece of the building peel away from the façade and head rapidly downward. Then, as his eyes focused, he realized with a sickening feeling in his stomach that the debris was actually a person. Driven to the edge of the building by what had to be intense heat inside, a human being had decided to jump out into eternity.

He found another chief, Jim Bell, a man he had gone through the Academy with, and the two of them began working the North Tower. They started going quickly from floor to floor, evacuating everyone they could find. Most people were already headed down the stairs, having left their offices as soon as the attack had begun and they passed firefighters on the way up. _They look like babies…younger than Joe…_Frank thought. With luck, they could get everyone below the impact zone out of the area. _The people caught above the impact zone…God alone knew…_

Frank looked at Jim Bell. The man's head was bleeding badly from a cut on his scalp, and the blood and sweat ran in streaks down his face.

"You need to get that looked at," Frank told Bell.

"This is nothing…compared to what we're gonna face…"

**9:15 a.m.**

Jamie sat down in the library for an hour of Study Hall, his mind still echoing with Sister Albertine's talk about Thomas Paine, and how his writing had been so influential in the American Revolution. She had quoted John Adams: "Without the pen of the author of 'Common Sense,' the sword of Washington would have been raised in vain." He really admired people like that, who could make their words sound so elegant…_I try, but I'm better at action than writing…_

Suddenly the intercom on the wall behind him crackled into life, and he heard the voice of St. Brendan's new administrator. "Attention, please. Will all students and faculty please come to the auditorium as quickly but as quietly as possible?"

As they filed out the library doors, Jamie looked at the faces of the teachers, and they seemed as puzzled as he and his classmates were at this interruption of their daily routine. _It can't be a fire drill, because then we would go out to the football field. _Jamie had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. _This is no drill at all…something bad is going on…_

He continued to try to come up with answers as he made his way to the auditorium. He took a seat and waited for the stragglers to come in. As he watched, Father O'Connor, principal of St. Brendan's, and students from the A/V Club stepped onto the stage, rolling a large media stand with a television set on top. An electrical cord and extension snaked out into the wings. When they had it in place, the club members handed the remote to the principal and came down to take their seats with the rest of the student body.

Father O'Connor was unusually grim. He was a generally a cheerful man, an Irish-Canadian originally from Nova Scotia who smiled easily and often. Now, he stood there like a man defeated as he struggled for words.

"There has been an attack on the World Trade Center in Manhattan this morning." A wave of concern and whispered questions swept over them, and he held up one hand for silence. Jamie could see students and even some staff reach surreptitiously for radios and cell phones.

Right off the top of his head, Jamie could name at least a dozen students who had family working at the World Trade Center, and he didn't know everybody at St. Brendan's. As Father O'Connor turned on the television and they could see the smoke and flame pouring from the towers, Jamie could hear gasps of shock and the quiet sounds of the kids around him as they all began to realize what this meant, especially as the announcer on the television began to replay a tape and all of them saw the second plane slam into the tower.

Father O'Connor was speaking again, "We do not have all the details yet, but we are suspending classes until further notice. We are arranging to have everyone sent safely home, and until that time, we will stay together here in the auditorium. We have television access and can get updates." He took a deep breath. "However, before we do anything else, let us all say a prayer for everyone involved in this horrible tragedy, and for their loved ones." With the television coverage as a backdrop, everyone got to their feet, and Father O'Connor made the sign of the cross. "In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost..."

As soon as the prayer was over, Jamie quickly made his way up onto the stage and over to the priest's side. Even before he asked for permission to leave, Father O'Connor was nodding his head. "I know about your family, Jameson. Go on home now, son." He placed one hand on Jamie's head and quickly made the sign of the cross. Jamie nodded his thanks for the blessing, dashed off the stage, up the aisle and out the auditorium doors.

Henry Reagan happened to be the first of the family to reach the WTC. As he was running, an RMP had pulled up.

"Hey, PC!" yelled the patrol officer from the passenger side of the car, "need a lift?"

"I'm not the Commissioner anymore, but I'll take the ride."

"You'll always be the PC in my book. Anyway, I don't see any other Commissioner headed for the trouble, do you?"

"I'm sure he will be along – right now he needs to co-ordinate everything."

As the RMP pulled back out onto the street, a huge piece of flaming mass fell onto the street ahead of them. The driver hit the brakes and as the car jerked to a stop, the three men inside saw a huge tire, obviously from a jet, lying in front of them. It was burning, and the smell of melting rubber made Henry gag. "Jesus Christ!" the driver yelled, and Henry crossed himself. The three men bailed from the car and headed toward the flames.

A few minutes later, Joe and Officer Renzulli reached the WTC from the far side.

Danny and his partner came in from the north-east side, and Frank from One Police Plaza. Like everyone else in uniform that day, the Reagans entered hell.

**9:20 a.m.**

Jamie Reagan sped through the streets of Brooklyn on his ten-speed, listening to the local news accounts on his Walkman. He was on the edge of panic, but he was fighting to stay calm. He knew his father and brothers would be down there, and he was determined to join them as soon as he could find them. That was his main priority, but he knew he had best go by the house and check on his mother first.

He pulled into the driveway and was off the bike before it even stopped rolling. As he came into the kitchen, his mother ran into his arms. "Jamie!" she cried.

"Have you talked to Dad?"

"Just after it happened, but not since." She ran a hand across his face. "I'm sure he's okay, son."

Jamie looked over his shoulder and saw his Grandmother, her Rosary in her hand. "You all right, Grandma?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm gonna go down there, Mom." When she gasped, he said "I've got to do _**something**_!"

She guided him into the living room and he sat. "Let's see if we hear from anyone first," she suggested. Something told her that he would not sit still for long, but at least she had her youngest son in her house now.

They watched the television in silence, listening to the news accounts. He sat on the couch, watching every moment unfold and fighting the urge to go down there. He would stop every few minutes and try to call his father's cell phone, but no luck.

He heard all the rumors being passed around by the news people, who often seemed as clueless as he felt. There were people saying that the Sears Tower in Chicago had been attacked, then it hadn't…that planes would crash every thirty minutes…then they didn't…that D.C. was being evacuated…

"Mom! Grandma!" he called out. The two women were trying to keep busy by cleaning and watching the two youngsters, but they came running at his shout.

On the television, smoke was blooming out of the Pentagon. "They hit the Pentagon too!" He stared at them. "They just said that all the bridges and tunnels across the city are shut down."

At that point, Mary felt that Jamie would have no choice but to stay home, with no way to get into the city. Then came the horrible sights they all knew they would never forget. First, the South Tower fell in a gigantic cloud of dust and ash. Then, only forty minutes later, the North Tower also disappeared. Stunned, Jamie looked at the two women who meant so much to him. They were crying. They had just watched hundreds – if not thousands of people die. Were their family members among the living – or the dead?

Mary felt the hot tears rolling down her face. She tried to tell herself that she would know – _somehow_- if Frank, Henry or her boys were hurt – or dead. But this horror was just too great to comprehend.

"Mom?" Jamie was pleading. "I gotta go down there and help. I gotta find Dad and my brothers. I'll find a way in."

Mary nodded, knowing that nothing would stop her son now. "Just be careful, son."

His grandmother took Jamie by the arm. "Your grandfather is down there too. Find him and tell him to come home to me…please."

Jamie tried the home phone, found it working and called a friend who owned a truck. "Can you take me and my bike to the Brooklyn Bridge?"

His friend, David Malter, was another member of the track team and he was eager to help out. A few minutes later, Jamie met his friend in the driveway, loaded his bike into the back and headed for the bridge. His plan was simple. He would ride his bike over the bridge. On the way out of the house, he had grabbed his NYPD Explorer's windbreaker from the closet, hoping that the official looking jacket would get him past any roadblocks. He was determined to get into the city, on his bike or on foot if he had to…_I'll find my family…_

**9:50 a.m.**

Chaos…Screaming…Flame and acrid smoke… The Reagan men were at various points throughout the World Trade Center site.

Henry sat next to a person who had been on the street when the first plane struck. Hit by falling, burning debris, the man was badly hurt and burned, but was still conscious. He was mumbling, and Henry recognized the Act of Contrition. Holding the man by his one uninjured hand, he helped him finish the words, and then flagged down a fireman. "we gotta get some help for this guy!"

A few blocks north of the horror, a makeshift trauma area had been set up, and Henry helped the fireman and two civilians carry the guy toward help. When that was done, he started back. He heard someone yell "Pop!" When he turned, he saw his son running toward him, his uniform coat torn and his tie gone. They embraced, briefly, and exchanged what little news they had. "I talked to Mary, but my cell phone died a little while ago," Frank said.

"Have you seen or heard from the kids?" Henry asked.

"No, but I'm sure they're all right." His voice was confident. For years now, whenever one of his children was in some kind of danger, he could feel it. The fear and concern would wake him at night, or overtake him during the day. He had felt none of that…only the anger over what some cowards had done to this city…_**his**_city…

"I'm heading back over to the North Tower. We were trying to co-ordinate some kind of an evacuation." He put a hand on his father's shoulder. "Take care, Pop."

"You, too."

Frank set off, deeper into the wreckage, and Henry turned back to assist another person looking for help.

It was an eerie scene. The plaza between the two towers was covered in debris, some of it flaming, but the Muzac was still playing, and Frank recognized Billy Joel's "_She's Always A Woman To Me_". Just inside the lobby of the North Tower, Frank met up with several other police and fire chiefs at the make-shift command center. The scene outside was becoming more and more horrific. Jumpers' bodies had fallen onto the concrete, and the acrid smoke made breathing difficult, almost impossible without face masks.

They were still trying to coordinate teams going into the towers for rescue operations when another sound reached them. It was a low rumble that grew steadily, accompanied by shouts and screams coming over their walkie-talkies. "Run, Damn it! Run!" he heard someone yell. The roar grew in intensity until Frank could feel it in his shoes. A dark cloud of smoke and debris moved across the area, and many of the chiefs dove for cover. Frank huddled against the side of a wall, but feared that it might come down on top of him at any moment.

It was over in a few, terrifying moments. The sky outside had turned black with smoke and the streets looked like something out of a nuclear winter. Ash and twisted metal, paper and body parts lay in layers several inches deep. When they could finally see through the smoke, it was obvious that the South Tower was now just a pile of molten steel and shattered glass. They moved outside, and the fire chief in charge there passed along an order to evacuate. It was better to fall back and reassess the situation.

Frank and a few of his companions were moving northward when that sound came again, rising up from the ground through his shoes. Instinctively, he yelled "Run!"

A huge cloud of smoke, debris and who knew what the hell else billowed out from behind them as they ran. A few steps more and it began to overcome them. Frank grabbed the nearest person and pulled him under a car that suddenly appeared through the smoke. They fell, rolled under it and covered their heads as the world turned black once more.

**10:00 a.m.**

In the stairwell on the 32nd floor of the North Tower Joe was fighting his way through the smoke, the heat and the darkness. There had already been an awful, rumbling sound and the building shook violently. He had fallen to his knees, but he was on his feet now, helping to clear as many floors as could be reached. The order to evacuate had been passed and now heat was driving him back down when he ran into a woman sitting to one side – out of the way on the landing.

"Ma'am? Ma'am? We need to get out of here."

"I can't," she moaned between coughs.

"My name's Joe, what's yours?

"Karen."

"Well, Karen, I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to die, and I can't leave you here so I guess I'll just have to carry you."

"You…can't …carry me…" Karen had to stop to catch her breath, "…down all those…flights."

"Can you walk at all?"

"Barely. I'm diabetic…my legs don't work…well in the best of conditions."

Without another word Joe bent down and lifted the lady into a fireman's lift.

"Can you help hold yourself there? This could get a little bumpy.'

Karen nodded without speaking. She was crying softly but managed to grab Joe's belt in back.

"That's great! Now you hold onto me and we'll be outta here in no time."

Joe's legs already felt on fire but he was much better off than the poor souls on the floors above them. He knew no one else was going to make it out. He began down the stairs slowly, but started to move a little faster as his body adjusted to Karen's weight.

"Karen, do you pray?"

"That's all I've been doing since this nightmare started."

"Then pray with me, will ya? Silently? I guess we'll need our breath to make it out of here."

"Of course! But promise me you'll put me down and run if I get to be too much. Please save yourself."

""Karen, I can't do that! I took an oath to protect and serve. I can't just leave you behind so just be quiet and pray, okay?"

"Yes, sir. I should have known you'd be bossy."

"Don't talk…pray!"

Joe began hurrying down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him safely. He would have liked to know what floor they were on, but he lost count after a while and the smoke was billowing too thickly now even to read the large signs on the landings. Since he had no idea where he was, he began silently praying, "Hail Mary…full of grace…the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy, Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death." Joe stopped the prayer for a second then added, "Just don't let it be today."

As his feet flew down the stairs and his body was balanced by the grace of God, He wondered where his family was. It seemed to Joe that he had been running down the stairwell into the depths of hell for hours. The weight of Karen's body made his back ache and his knees and ankles were screaming at him with each step, but he kept at it. The air got no better, and he wondered why it wasn't getting any clearer. Had his heart burst and he wasn't aware? Was this his version of hell? Running forever but never reaching the bottom? His thoughts got even darker. He would have loved to ask Karen if she was okay, but he didn't have the breath for it.

Suddenly, he heard something other than the pounding of his own heart and the bellows of his lungs attempting to get enough air to supply his body. He had caught up to the slowest of the people he and his partner had sent down earlier. Renzulli was at the landing, coughing and yelling encouragement as he could.

"Come on, people!...Last flight…people…_come on_!"

_More welcome words have never been spoken! Now if only I can slow down without dumping myself and Karen down this last flight!_

Renzulli reached out and helped his young partner to slow down. They finally burst through the door and into the lobby – the outside doors were blocked open as the last stragglers were making their way outside but the air on the other side of the doors didn't seem to be any better than the air in the stairwell had been. Joe wanted to ask his partner what had happened but he didn't have enough breath. He just looked at Renzulli and raised an eyebrow – the only part of his body that didn't hurt.

"The South Tower came down!" Renzulli announced. The same thought had just come into the minds of both men. The Towers were identical. If one could go, then the other could as well.

"_**WHAT?" **_Karen was obviously still with him.

"Yeah, nothing but rubble out there so watch your step…but keep moving…this tower doesn't look in any better shape."

Joe used his last burst of adrenaline to get outside and to the far side of the plaza. He was just about to put Karen down when Renzulli screamed "_**RUN**_!"

Joe ran. He began to hear a rumbling behind him, then a strange popping noise and he knew they would not make it to safety without a miracle. Ahead on the right, he saw an ambulance parked beside a stable looking building. He ran to the far side of it and braced Karen against the wall behind the vehicle. He covered her as best he could and then he wished he had died in the stairwell as the breath of Satan washed over him. For a moment he thought his wish had been granted . Then the pain started and he knew he was still alive.

Karen was coughing…they both were. Breath was impossible, then a miracle did happen, a ghost, at least it looked like a ghost all covered in gray ash, ran up with two bottles of water.

"Here, pour half of this over your faces and slowly drink the rest; otherwise you'll just be drinking ash."

"Grandpa?"

"Joe?"

"Yeah…I'm…" He collapsed before he could get another word out. Hank looked around and saw his son. "Francis!" _Where he had come from, God only knew! _In the eerie silence of the aftermath, voices carried well.

"Pop?"

"Behind the ambulance! It's Joe!"

Lifting Joe by one arm, Henry got him to his feet while Frank picked up the woman Joe had been helping. As far as he could tell, neither of them was badly hurt – just pushed beyond their limits by exhaustion. As they started off toward the nearest aid station, the woman began to stir.

"Joe?" she whispered.

"No," Frank told her. "My name is Frank."

"What's happened to my friend Joe?"

"We're getting both of you to some help."

"He saved my life – did you know that?" she whispered. "My friend Joe saved my life." Frank felt her go limp, but he could feel her breathing, so he knew she had only passed out, giving herself back over to her exhaustion.

A few short blocks later, they reached a temporary aid station set up near a school. EMT's took charge of both of them, getting them on oxygen and checking vitals. Frank wanted nothing more than to stay at his son's side, and it took everything he had inside himself to turn around and start to go find someone else to help.

His father seemed to read his mind. "I'll stay with Joe…you go on, son…"

Frank nodded and reluctantly moved off.

**10:00 a.m.**

More and more people were running past Danny, and he waved them on, moving them northward, always northward. Women were crying, tears streaking their ash-covered faces. Men were stunned but all of them were doing their best to help each other move out of harm's way.

Danny saw a man, who was obviously an Arab, stumble and fall to the pavement. Before he could get to him, Danny saw a hand reach out to help him up. When the Muslim looked up to thank the person who had helped him, he smiled up into the face of a young Hasidic Jew wearing a yarmulke and sidelocks.

The young Jew put one arm around the other man's shoulders. "Come on, brother, let's get out of here!" They moved on past and were quickly lost in the crowd.

He felt the earth shake before he heard the roar. For one insane moment, he thought of Jack, shaking his toys up and down…up and down…

He had been watching a group of people moving steadily toward him. An older man on the side of the knot had been talking to them, encouraging then on, but he was rapidly falling behind them.

Suddenly, the rumble grew to a roar, and Danny saw an immense cloud of flame and smoke, ash and debris moving like a tidal wave up the street. "Run!" he yelled, waving his arms, and the group began to race past him. The older man tried to run, stumbled, regained his footing and struggled on. Danny knew the cloud was going to overtake him.

At the nearby aid station, a fireman was being treated for a broken collarbone. He was already out of his turn-out coat. Danny raced over and grabbed it. "Be right back, kid," he said. As he sprinted toward the old man, who reminded him a little of Grandpa, he saw the cloud moving over them. He grabbed the older man's shoulders and threw the turn-out coat over the both of them as best he could. They fell together onto the street, and everything went black.

"_I'm dead," _Danny thought, but then he coughed, felt pain in his leg and knew he was alive after all. Underneath him, the old man was struggling to breathe, but he too was alive.

Danny tried to get to his feet but then realized he and the other man had been buried in rubble. He tried to get to his knees at least, but knew he would have to plant them in the older man's back. He tried to roll onto his side but only succeeded in moving something heavy further down on them.

It was quiet…_spooky quiet…_he could hear blood rushing in his ears, the frantic beating of his heart. Suddenly, the man lying beneath him spoke, breaking the terrible silence. "Thanks for the hug, son, but you're not my type…" Then, in a whisper, he added, "how the hell did we just live through that?"

In the distance, they could hear shouting and Danny recognized Degas' voice. He was yelling "Hang on! We'll get you outta there!"

Moving slowly, working together, Danny and the older man tried to extricate themselves from the ash and debris that covered them, mainly using Danny's back muscles. It was slow going because every time they breathed, they were breathing ash. Danny tried not to think about what the ash was made of – he was afraid he already knew.

After several long, agonizing minutes, and with his partner's help, Danny was able to move the worst of it off and roll over onto his back. When he looked up, he saw Sergeant Degas holding the turn-out coat and glaring at him. "Reagan – that was either the stupidest damned thing I've ever seen – or the bravest."

Degas helped him to his feet while the fireman whose turn-out coat he had "borrowed" helped the other man, (despite his own arm and shoulder held in a sling), and they moved off toward the aid station.

He heard the young firefighter say, "That's my coat you ruined!"

Danny tried to think of a witty comeback, but it hurt too much. He knew he had banged a knee and cracked a rib or two, but no way was he going to let them take him to a hospital.

_When this is all over, _he thought, _Linda is going to kill me…_

The thick dust began to settle, and everyone was moved even further north. Danny tried not to think about the people who had died today, but he couldn't help wondering how many of his friends – _or family –_ he might never see again.

Then, it started all over again, like a bad movie stuck in a loop. Danny felt the rumble, heard the roar and saw the evil-looking wave rushing toward them.

"Run!" Degas shouted. Danny ran, his bad knee throbbing and his chest burning. It seemed like everyone in the city was running. Covered in ash, he and Degas and a few others raced into the refuge of a small restaurant and slammed the door behind them.

"Are you guys okay?" a heavy-set man said in a whisper. Danny knew they must look like some hellish version of ghosts, covered in ash.

He spoke the first words that came into his head. "Is your phone working?"

"My cell died, but I think the phone on the wall is still working. Why? You guys want to call your families?"

Danny nodded, and the big man smiled. "Be my guest."

He moved to the far wall, nodded his thanks when the owner (he thought he was the owner) handed him a bottle of water. He dialed Linda's number at work. She answered on the first ring.

"King's General Emergency. How may I help you?" Her tone was calm and professional, but he could also hear the terror she was suppressing.

"Babe, it's me." When she gasped, he hurriedly added, "I'm okay."

"Oh God, Danny," she cried. "I've been so scared." He could picture her now, making the sign of the cross in relief. "Where are you?"

He looked around for any familiar landmarks, but it was like an ash covered war zone or some crazy moonscape outside. "Somewhere on Broadway, I think…I'm not really sure…" Before she could say anything else, he said "Linda, there's a lotta guys here waiting for the phone. Call Mom and tell her that I'm all right."

"Have you seen your Dad, or Joe?"

"Not yet, but they'll turn up. We're all Reagans. We're strong." He would have stayed there all day if he could, but instead he said, "I gotta go, babe. Call Mom. I love you."

"I love you, more."

"I love you most."

As soon as she hung up with Danny, Linda called her mother-in-law. When Mary heard Linda's voice, she closed her eyes and said a quick prayer.

"I just heard from Danny," Linda said. "He wanted you to know that he's all right."

Mary felt the tears start again. "Thank God."

"He hasn't seen Joe or Dad, but he thinks they should be okay."

"From your mouth to God's ear," Mary replied.

Joe Reagan sat on the steps of a church, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. A nurse in scrubs, a volunteer from a hospital downtown, was checking his vitals. The woman he had carried out of the North Tower had already been taken out by ambulance, but not before she had told everyone around her about Joe's efforts in saving her.

He felt embarrassed. As far as he was concerned, he was just doing his job.

Henry Reagan sat next to his grandson, concern etched into every line of his face. "You're a hero, Joe." he said.

"No, I'm not," he replied. "I did only what I've been trained to do. I couldn't wear the uniform I'm wearing if I had left her in that stairwell." Now that he'd had a few minutes to rest, he was anxious to go back down to where the towers lay in ruins.

The nurse removed the blood pressure cuff. "Hero or not, you're done for the day."

Joe looked at him. "I gotta go back! I gotta help look for people."

The nurse looked at him sympathetically, but his voice was firm. "Your BP is WAY up, and you're suffering from smoke inhalation."

Joe started to speak, but the nurse held up a hand to silence him. "There's going to be a lot of searching going on here for a long time. But right now, you're headed to a hospital."

"What? No!" Joe shakily got to his feet, but before he could start arguing again, Henry stepped up. "How would it be if I got him home and in bed for the time being?"

The nurse looked at both men, considered the options, and decided to give in to the inevitable. He nodded. "That'll do." He pointed a finger at them. "I don't want to see either of you down here for at least eight hours, understand?"

Henry nodded. "Thanks, son."

When the nurse moved off to treat someone else, Henry helped Joe toward the street. "Come on, Joe," he said as he took him by the arm. "Let's see if we can catch a ride."

Joe wanted – no, needed to stay-but he knew his Grandpa was only looking out for him. Truth be told, he felt like hell. His eyes were burning, his throat ached and his lungs were on fire. Every muscle in his body was cramping, and when his grandfather flagged down an RMP, he climbed gratefully into the back. He looked once onto the smoking heap of rubble, then closed his eyes.

He heard his grandfather tell the young officer behind the wheel, "go around the block a couple of times, then take us to the Armory." They headed off and Joe opened his eyes. "We're not going home?"

Henry shook his head. "We need all hands on deck, Joe" he said. "I don't want to risk your health, but if you're up to it, we need you."

"I am." Compared to a lot of other guys, he was good to go. He could ignore his pain.

"I've been told that they're running a mobile command center near the Armory," Henry said. "Stay in there, and for God's sake, don't let that nurse see you!"

The RMP rolled to a stop, and the two men got out and went inside.

**10:30 a.m.**

As the morning began to wear on, Linda's despair and fear grew. All she could do was wait and pray.

They had all their trauma and emergency supplies assembled, ready for the wave of patients sure to come in. The city's emergency plan, including all the hospitals in the five boroughs, meant that the most badly injured went to the closest trauma centers, while others would be transported to the remaining care facilities.

With a disaster of this size they had expected to be swamped. However, all they could do now was wait and watch the news. They had seen only a couple of patients so far; a man who had a heart attack watching the news, and a woman having an anxiety attack. It slowly began to dawn on all of them that there might not be that many survivors…especially as they watched, horrified, when the towers fell. After a few moments of tension filled silence, a few of the staff decided to try and make it into the city with medical supplies and to help with search and rescue operations.

Linda turned to the staff members that were preparing to leave. "Please be careful."

Mark Graham, her best orderly, turned to her. "You know we will"

"Do you have everything you need?"

"I think so. Thanks for the loan of the carts."

"Just get them back if you can…and Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you do me a favor and look for Danny while you're over there?"

"You haven't heard from him?"

"Yeah, I spoke to him about thirty minutes ago, but it seems a lot longer. He was okay, but I know he's in the middle of it. I told him to be careful, but you know Danny."

"Linda, he'll be fine."

"Will he? Really? Will anybody who goes down there and comes back out ever be the same?"

"I guess not." Mark knew she was not just worried about Danny but about all of them as well. "But we'd be worse if we stayed away."

Linda nodded, then she and the remaining staff watched the group leave. She wondered what made some people run toward the danger, and she silently fumed at her responsibilities here at the hospital and at home that kept her away.

**10:30 a.m.**

Along with everyone else in the café, Erin and her classmates watched the news coverage in shock. The only sounds were the shrill calls of sirens on the road outside, moving through the fallout of paper, metal and ash. Some papers were still burning, some untouched, fluttering through the air like some macabre ticker tape parade. Studies were forgotten, especially as they watched first one, then the second, tower fall. Erin had always seen those towers, an iconic image on the skyline. Now they were gone.

She gathered up all her material and shoved it into her backpack, suddenly seized by the urge to run away to the safest place she knew.

"I'm going to my Mom and Dad's!" she said.

"Erin, you heard the guy on television," her classmate Letisha pointed out. "The bridges and tunnels are closed – the subways too, probably. How are you gonna get all the way to Brooklyn?"

"I don't know. I'll walk if I have to." At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to hold Nikki in her arms and shut out the world. She was also thankful that John was not in this mess. She'd tried to call him several times, but cell service was down. _God only knew when it would come back._

Terrance, another classmate and dear friend, looked seriously at Erin. "How desperate are you to get there?"

"_**Very**_!"

"I know how you feel about motorcycles, but mine is outside in the alley and I have an extra helmet."

"I'll take it."

"I'll try to take you as far as I can."

"Thanks. Let's go."

Terrance gathered his things and they headed out.

Letisha called after them. "You two had better be careful. If you get killed I'll never speak to you again." If either of them could have smiled, they would have, but the sorrow and horror was just too great. They left the café and went around the corner to the alleyway.

Erin balanced herself as best she could on the back of the motorbike. The helmet made her head feel heavy, so she rested it on Terrance's back. As Terrance took off she thought of what her parents would say if they knew she was on one of what her father often called "a motorized death trap".

Taking side streets and cutting through alleyways they moved southeast toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Unfortunately, that also took them closer and closer to the scene of the devastation.

Within three blocks, Terrance had to turn on the light to try and see through the smoke and ash. She thanked God that the helmets had face shields, otherwise they would have this stuff in their eyes and lungs. People – at least she thought they were people – were walking North, or just standing and staring, their eyes glazed over beneath the ash. They looked surreal, almost like breathing statues.

The motorbike's engine began to sputter, then it died completely just before they reached the bridge. By this time, they too were covered in ash.

"What's wrong with the bike?" Erin asked.

"Not sure…maybe outta gas…maybe got something sucked up into the engine.." Terrance looked at her. "This is as far as I go…sorry…"

She hugged him. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry. I'll push the bike back to my apartment, then I'm gonna try to get to my brother's apartment at Columbia." He looked around as people moved past them. "We all gotta be with family now, ya know? You hug Nikki for me and tell her that I'm gonna marry that sweet little girl someday."

She watched him turn and start pushing the bike back through the ash, then she joined the mass exodus across the bridge.

At the same time that his sister Erin was about to cross the bridge, Jamie hopped out of David's truck and pulled the 10-speed from the back. A cluster of people, all covered in ash and smelling of gas and smoke, had just come down off the bridge.

Jamie looked at his team-mate. "Davy, I've got an idea. Get in touch with as many people with vehicles as you can. Let's start getting these people home."

David nodded, then called out "All of you from Brooklyn? Come on and I'll drive you home." Several climbed into the cab and the back of the truck then David took off.

Jamie rode slowly, making his way against the tide of people. He realized that he could be passing family and friends but never know it. He was nearly at the Manhattan side of the bridge when he heard someone call his name.

"Jamie! Jamie!" It looked like Erin,

"Erin!" He was almost overcome with relief. "Hop on the bike and I'll double you across."

"Thanks, but I can make it. I'll walk, but if you could help this lady." Erin turned to a woman she was helping, and Jamie could see that she looked bad.

"She has asthma, and is having a lot of trouble breathing in this mess."

"Sure, Sis." He turned his attention to the other woman, and helped her sit on the bike seat. "You just sit on the bike, ma'am, and I'll roll it across."

While they walked, Jamie and Erin caught each other up on what little they knew. When they reached the Brooklyn side of the bridge, he was glad to see several of his friends and neighbors waiting there with trucks, vans and SUV's. Several buses and taxis had also appeared and were lined up nearby.

He turned and gave Erin a quick hug before helping the lady into the cab of a truck. "One of these guys will get you to the house," he told Erin, "Tell Mom and Grandma that I'm okay. I think I know what I have to do."

"All right, but please be careful. Don't let anything happen to you, little brother."

"I won't." Jamie took off across the bridge again, and did not look back to see the sad but proud smile that came over his sister's face. She climbed into an SUV driven by a track team-mate of Jamie's and asked to be taken to her apartment in Park Slope. She needed to see her family, but there were things she had to do first.

Jamie rode back across the bridge, moving through the crowds of people and looking for the person who needed his help the most. It wasn't long before he saw a man who looked like he had walked out of a horror movie. He was covered in ash like everyone else, but he also had a gash across the top of his head. The red blood mixed with ash on his face and head looked like a weird Halloween mask.

"Sir, can you sit on my bike? If you can, I can get you across the bridge. There are rides waiting on the other side."

Dazed, the man stared at Jamie as if the words coming out of Jamie's mouth were gibberish. "Sir, here – let me help you."

Jamie helped the man sit the bike and started back toward the Brooklyn side. When they made it back, he found a temporary aid station set up with water and medical help. He saw a van with a King's General sticker in the windshield, and someone had set up one of those tents with no walls. Nurses and EMT's were helping those who needed it. Jamie took the man with the gash over to the tent. He would have liked to see if Linda was there, but he had other concerns at the moment. "Could you please help this man? He's hurt, but he hasn't said anything so I don't know how bad it is."

"Sure, kid. Here, have some water."

"Thanks," Jamie took the bottled water then turned his bike around.

"Where you going, kid?"

"Back to help people across."

"Then, here, put these on." He handed Jamie a surgical mask, latex gloves and a pair of plastic goggles. "And take some of these with you." He handed Jamie more masks. "Give them to the people over there on the far side."

"Yessir."

**Noon**

Linda and the remaining staff began to see a few patients come into the E.R. Most of them were survivors who had made it across the bridge on foot. They were telling stories about some kid on the bridge, ferrying people across on a bicycle, and other kids in trucks bringing people in. There seemed to be a small armada of Good Samaritans fanning out across the borough, taking survivors to hospitals or home to their families.

**1:00 p.m.**

Erin climbed out of the back of David Malter's truck, along with several other people from her neighborhood. She wanted nothing more than to see Nikki, but she was covered in ash and God knew what else; she did not want anyone to see her this way.

She let herself into the apartment she shared with John and Nikki, grabbed towels and clean clothes and headed for the bathroom.

She peeled off her clothes and put them into a trash bag – she never wanted to see them again, much less wear them; then she stepped into the shower. She scrubbed her hair and body several times, watching the gray water going down the drain. _I refuse to think about what this ash might be made of. _And, as if that had been the triggering thought, her tears started. Erin slid down the shower stall and sat in the corner crying. She sobbed, shaking in the shower until she seemed to run out of tears. She didn't know how long she had sat there bawling – until she suddenly realized one of the reasons she was shaking was she had run out of hot water. _I must have been in here for over an hour!_ She was thankful she had gotten this out of her system while she was alone. It would not do for Nikki to see her like this.

She quickly got to her feet and rinsed her face in the cold water, then she stepped out of the shower, grabbed her robe from the back of the bathroom door and her clean clothes from the counter top. Barefoot, she padded down the hall and into the bedroom where she dressed as quickly as she could.

The light on her answering machine was flashing, and she checked the messages as she towel-dried her hair. One was from John, and she tried her home phone. When she heard a dial tone, she called his cell phone only to get his voice mail.

_What a day to play phone tag!_

"John – I'm okay, and so is Nikki, but I was in the city when it all happened…" She took a deep breath. "I'm going to be at Mom and Dad's with Nikki. Please call me there…"

**2:00 p.m.**

Frank Reagan walked through the New York Armory, helping to set up a command center for search and rescue efforts. Another command center, for the mayor and senior emergency personnel, had been located very near the Towers. They had literally been forced to run for their lives from that site, and then another. Shortly after the collapse of the Towers, Mayor Guiliani had ordered an evacuation of Lower Manhattan. Scores of police were there still, moving people farther north.

Tensions were high. Every time rescue teams moved toward the wreckage, they would be forced back by heat or threats of another building collapse. Still, everyone was trying to carry out their assignments under impossible odds. Frank knew that the casualty lists would be unimaginable.

All phone service in the immediate area around the site where the Towers once stood was down. Service here was better, but spotty. Along with all the other things going on, technicians were trying to run new, temporary lines.

Jim Bell, wearing a bandage over the cut on his head, edged up to Frank. "We got a location on the PC?"

"They got chased out of two places already," Frank replied. "Last I heard, they were headed to Queens and the police academy to oversee things from there."

Bell nodded. "I saw your Pop a little while ago…" He paused, like he was afraid of any answer he might get to the next question. "Heard from your kids yet?"

Frank motioned to where his son sat, manning a phone. "Joe's here – he's walking wounded but okay. I heard Danny's voice over the radio a few minutes ago. He's accounted for."

He looked at Bell with concern, knowing he had a son in the fire department. He used to kid Bell about his son being a "traitor" to the blue, but it was only a joke. Now, he prayed that Jim's son was alive and well. "What about Peter?"

Bell's face showed relief. "He and a bunch of other people got caught in a stairwell and rode it down, but it held up and they got out a couple of hours ago." Bell sighed. "They took him to the hospital, but he'll be okay…most of the guys from his station house are missing and presumed not likely…"

"Were you able to get in touch with your wife?"

"A little while ago…she'll meet Peter at the hospital…you?"

"Not yet."

Bell shook his head. "Frank, Mary will not rest until you tell her that you and her boys are okay."

Frank nodded, and walked away, toward a bank of phones along one wall. Joe nodded at his father as he passed, then Frank heard his son say "…we're trying to put together lists of all missing officers, and we'll get that to you as soon as possible, Chief…"

Frank tried a phone, heard a dial tone, and called home.

"Reagan residence," he heard Mary say. He could tell she was holding back her tears and fright, but when he said, "Hey, sweetheart," he heard her gasp and start crying. "I'm okay. I'm at the Armory. Joe is okay. He's here with me, and Danny is nearby. I heard him on the radio."

"Pop?"

"He's okay…you know nothing is going to take him out."

"How bad is it?"

"Words can't describe…it's the worst thing I've ever seen…" He felt his own emotions threaten to bubble up, and he clamped down _**hard**_on that.

"Can you come home?" Mary was hopeful, but not expectant. She had been a cop's wife for a long time, and she knew his duty would come first.

"Not yet…not for a while, but I will call you again soon…"

"Please be very careful, Frank."

"Always."

She took a deep breath. "Francis Reagan…you come home safe to me, you hear?"

"Yes, _**Ma'am**__!" _He almost saluted the phone in response, then said, "I love you, woman of the house…"

"I love you too, you big dumb Mick cop!"

Mary was hanging up the phone when Erin came through the back door. She ran to her mother, quickly gave her a hug, and looked around. "Who was on the phone? Was that Dad?"

"Yes. He's fine, so is Danny, Joe and Pop."

Betty let out the breath that she had been holding. It almost seemed that she had holding that same breath since she had first heard the news that morning.

Erin put her hands to her mouth, stifling a gasp of relief. "Thank God! Where's Nikki?"

"She's in the living room, watching a movie." She pointed to a small television set sitting on the kitchen counter. "We're watching the news in here."

Erin nodded to her grandmother then raced into the living room. Nikki was lying on the couch, her eyes half closed…a result of more Children's Tylenol, probably. Erin scooped up her daughter and sat with her arms wrapped tightly around her. She pressed her face into Nikki's hair, and smelled the sweet smell of children's shampoo.

"Mommy?" Nikki's face was dark with questions. "Why is everybody so sad?"

"This is just a very sad day, sweetie…but we're okay, so you don't have anything to worry about, all right?"

"Is it because something bad happened in the city? I heard Grandma talking about something." Erin closed her eyes. She knew her Mother would have tried to keep the news away from Nikki and Jack, who was now sleeping soundly in his playpen, surrounded by his toys. _Leave it to my daughter to figure it out anyway…she's gonna be a real handful when she's a teen-ager!_

"Yes, something bad happened in the city, but we're all going to be okay…" She stroked Nikki's hair. "Your Grandpa and Pop, Joe and Danny will be home soon, and Daddy will come home as soon as he can…How would you like to stay here with Grandma and Grandpa until Daddy comes home?"

Nikki nodded, snuggled in a little closer and Erin felt her daughter slip into a restful sleep. She sat there for a moment, content to linger with her. Then, feeling a need to do _something…anything…_to help, she got to her feet, put Nikki down on the couch and went into the kitchen.

Mary and Betty were furiously putting together enough food to feed an army. Pots were boiling, her Mother was peeling vegetables and her grandmother was rolling out dough for something or other…All three of them looked up at the sound of the mayor's voice coming from the television. He was taking questions from the press. When asked about the number of casualties, he struggled for a moment, then said "more than any of us can bear…"

Mary turned away. "There's a lot of people from this neighborhood who worked in those Towers…I've already talked to Father McMurray, and we're going to set up food and drinks for anyone who needs it…I just hope we are going to have enough…" Her voice trailed off, and Erin stepped up and wrapped her arms around her mother/ The kitchen was filled with crying for a moment, then Erin straightened up. "Mom, I have to tell you what Jamie is up to…"

**6:00 p.m.**

Jamie started back across the bridge yet again. His entire day had turned into a continuous loop of walking or riding his bike back and forth across that bridge. His legs burned…his lungs burned…His eyes burned, but most of all his heart burned in his chest.

He did not realize that he was crying. He simply carried on. He didn't complain, neither did the people he was ferrying across or the ones he passed on the way.

All he could think about was his family and where they might be. _Had they been in the towers when they came down? Were they alive? What about all those people who were in the towers? Why would anyone do this? How could any human being hate this much?_

By twilight, Jamie had lost count of the trips he had made. He was working on autopilot now, and unable to think clearly. All he really knew was that, other than Erin, he still had not found his family like he promised his Mother he would.

He was putting one foot in front of the other and did not even notice when someone stopped him.

"It's okay, Jamie…we got the lady off the bike…"

_Lady? Was it a lady this time?_

"Come on Jamie…let go of the bike."

_Let go? I can't let go…I have to go back…I have to find…_

"Travis brought his parent's two-seater. He and Joel are taking over. It's time you went home."

_Home?_ Jamie blinked behind the goggles. He saw David put his 10-speed in the back of his truck and come back. David put Jamie in the cab of his truck and headed for Rugby Road. The two boys cried as they rode, but David looked over at his friend and team captain…and saw a hero.

**6:00 p.m.**

Danny, Sergeant Degas and several other police officers were going carefully around the streets near where the Towers once stood, making sure that the Mayor's evacuation order for all of Lower Manhattan was being carried out. There were a few people resistant to the order, mainly because they could not bear the idea of leaving their homes unprotected.

His worst case had been a feisty woman who lived in Battery Park City, who refused to leave her apartment building.

"I can't leave without Miri …she's my baby!"

"You got a child in there?" The building had not been badly damaged by the collapse of the Towers, but there was no phone service, no water, and no one knew if gas lines under the street were untouched. If a gas line burst, the whole city block could go. No one was allowed into the buildings, but Danny had to know if there was a child left behind.

"Be right back, Sarge." He nodded to his partner, and started carefully into the building. Ash and debris lay everywhere, blown in by a few blasted out windows. Stepping carefully, he found the second-floor apartment belonging to the crying woman being held back by Sergeant Degas. He could hear movement on the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakable sounds of wailing. Trying the door, he found it locked, so he backed up, kicked once, then twice at the door until it broke away from the doorframe.

Inside, he found a neat little apartment, decorated in early eclectic. The source of the wailing was coming from the couch. He approached it very carefully, knowing that any kid was bound to be going out of its mind after this morning. "Hey, kid? My name's Officer Reagan, and I'm here to take you to your Mom, okay?"

In response, a small, furry body launched itself into Danny's arms. _Furry? What the-"_

He held the body out at arm's length and looked into the face of a very frightened Alaskan Malamute puppy, who went from wailing its heart out to delivering wet, slimy licks all over Danny's face. _You gotta be kiddin' me…_

As he left the apartment, feeling all kinds of foolish, he noticed a puppy sized harness and leash hanging by the door. Grabbing them, he hurried out of the apartment and down the stairs.

Cradling it in one arm, he carried the dog back outside where her "Mommy" grabbed the dog from Danny and began to plant kisses of relief all over its muzzle.

"Thank you, Officer, thank you!"

"Good save on the '_baby_.'" Degas was smirking toward Danny.

"Hey, your wife still have those two cats who rule your life?"

"Don't knock the kitties, Reagan!"

"Just sayin'. You know, one woman's cats is another woman's dog. Besides, today I'll save any life I can!"

Degas nodded, and then they moved the woman and dog further north toward several relief stations. The Red Cross, the Salvation Army and a lot of other groups were helping people cope with the evacuation order, and Danny wondered if there would be trouble finding a place for the woman and her "baby".

At the site, people were beginning to climb all over the pile, forming bucket brigades that carried pieces of the rubble to waiting recovery teams who were looking for human remains and parts of the planes. Not very far away, Frank Reagan stood in front of a group of detectives from the NYPD and the FBI.

"The black boxes off those planes have got to be found. They could be as far away as one half mile."

"If the black boxes are black, how we gonna find 'em in all this?" A detective near the rear yelled.

"The black boxes are really orange to make them easier to find," Frank replied.

"That don't make no sense, Chief!"

"Look around you – does anything make sense anymore?"

They had wanted to go in much earlier, but fire and the fear of collapse had kept them away. Even now, sending them in was a huge risk, but it had to be done; Frank knew that the search would probably take several weeks, if not months.

He looked around at the buildings nearest them. "Take your time. If you hear an order to get out, then do it!" The men were nodding. "These buildings may or may not be stable, so be very careful. Check in with your team leaders every fifteen minutes, or earlier if you need to…" He looked at each man's face, knowing that they were all volunteers. He wasn't asking them to do anything that he himself wasn't going to do. "Okay, let's move out!"

He and his team headed toward one of the nearest buildings, radios and flashlights in hand. At that moment, he had only one thought. _Mary is going to kill me if she ever finds out I did this!"_

Mary and Erin were, at that very moment, loading the back of Mary's car with all sorts of dishes to be taken over to St. Luke's. From there, volunteers would take them down to the site of the destruction. Mary agonized about going into the city, but she wanted to be home if Frank or one of the boys called, and besides, Jamie was still out there, and she wanted to be home when he got back. Erin, however, had no interest in going back into the city for a while yet. She had seen enough. Nikki was finally settled, and John had called. With all planes grounded, he was renting a car and driving down from Albany. She wanted to be here when he drove in.

All over the neighborhood, American flags had suddenly sprouted up on porches, car antennas, and every conceivable open space. People were standing in little clumps on corners, sharing their grief with neighbors they probably had never spoken to before this day.

Erin looked over at her mother as they finished loading the car. "You know, Mom, if those terrorists really wanted to change us, then they succeeded…"

Mary looked across the hood of the car at her daughter, a question on her face.

"I think we're all a little better than we used to be…before today…"

**Midnight**

The terrible day was over, but it would be many days and months before the city would get back to normal – if it ever did.

A grey pall hung over Lower Manhattan. The air stank of burning flesh, ash and molten metal. Frank and Henry walked toward the site of the day's attack, wrapped in the grief that seemed to cover the area like a blanket. The only sound that came from the site was the eerie chirping of what sounded like birds. Frank knew that in reality it was the sound of hundreds of emergency locators attached to firefighters' equipment that went off when the wearer remained still for any long period of time.

For hours now, search and rescue teams from the NYPD and the NYFD had approached "the pile" (as it was now being called) only to be pulled out because of safety concerns. New teams were searching the surrounding area for the missing black boxes. Everyone was on edge, tired beyond belief and yet, there were no clashes.

Frank thought that they were all still suffering from shock, and looking around, he knew that all of them would be down here in a massive recovery effort for months to come. As far as the NYPD was concerned, there were at least twenty confirmed deaths, and that number might be going higher. Frank had known most of the NYPD casualties only by their faces – but now those faces were planted in his mind forever.

The Port Authority Police were missing over thirty officers. But it would be the NYFD which would be the most decimated. Right now, there were over three hundred missing firefighters, and the numbers would climb as the days and weeks wore on. And those numbers would pale in comparison to the thousands of people who died when the Towers fell, or those killed at the Pentagon or the heroes aboard Flight 93, the first ones to fight back.

Walking here from the Armory, Frank and Henry watched the people on the street. Small impromptu shrines had begun to appear and people were gathered on street corners, holding hands or candles and singing. The two of them heard "Amazing Grace" several times, and at one point Henry stopped to listen for a moment. When he looked at Frank, he said, "we're gonna be hearin' that a lot for quite awhile, you know."

Frank nodded. Traditionally, that song was always played, usually on the bagpipes, at every funeral for a New York City firefighter or police officer. If the numbers they were hearing turned out to be true, they'd all be attending funerals past Christmas. Some fire stations had lost entire squads. One station had only one firefighter left, and he was alive only because he was a rookie who had been left behind to answer the phones. Now, he was down here, searching for his buddies.

There had at least been two bright spots in the dismal hours. Around eight o'clock, a transit officer had been found – alive – in the rubble. It had taken rescuers an additional three hours to free him, but the guy was now in the hospital. He was severely injured, yes, but he was _**alive**_! Another transit officer was alive but trapped. Those two moments of hope had energized everyone. Despite their exhaustion, Frank knew they would keep working until the officer was freed, and in the hope, of finding one more – just one more.

Suddenly, his heart pounding, Frank knew he had to leave – get away, and try to come to terms with everything he had seen and heard today. He put an arm around his father's shoulders. "Pop…I think it's time to find the boys and go home for a few hours."

Hank nodded. "We'll come back in the morning."

"And for many, many other mornings to come."

**Sunday, September 16, 2001**

Home from Mass, the Reagan family gathered around the dinner table. This was the first time that entire long week that all of them had been together under one roof, and as Frank looked around the table, he felt a lump in his throat and he struggled to keep his composure. It had been a hard week for all of them. He and a grief counselor had spent the better part of the week at the Armory, interviewing family members who were filing missing persons reports. The hundreds of pictures and the raw emotions would stay with him the rest of his life.

His only refuge was here, in this house…with his family…

He looked to his right, where Mary sat, with Jack on her lap. The little boy was concentrating on pounding the table with a plastic hammer. Mary's smile at his antics was wistful. She had not yet laughed out loud since that day, and he still remembered the look on her face as he had stepped through the door that night. She had gasped, then began to sob as she had rushed into his arms. His mother had done almost the same thing when Pop had followed him through the door.

On Mary's right, Frank saw his son Jamie wearing a new NYPD Explorer's windbreaker. His old one had been ruined during his long trek back and forth across the Brooklyn Bridge, and Frank had bought him a new one when Erin had told him about Jamie's work on the bridge that terrible day. Then, this morning, just after Mass, David Malter had approached him and Mary and asked to speak to them. Haltingly, almost crying, he had given them more details about Jamie's work on the bridge, then went to join his parents. When Jamie walked up a few minutes later, the looks on his parents' faces must have been something, because he looked at them and said "What? What did I do?" Mary had broken down again, and Frank had enveloped his youngest son in a fierce bear hug.

Across from Jamie sat Joe, still showing some bruising but Frank knew that nothing was keeping Joe from working the scene in his off hours. All of them would have gone back down there this afternoon, but instead they were heading to the first of many funerals; a neighbor had died working for Cantor-Fitzgerald.

Across from Jamie sat Erin, holding Nikki on her lap. Nikki was feeling the depth of the emotion around the house these last few days, and had become very "clingy". Erin did not seem to mind it. And in John's favor, Frank had to admit that he had been very kind and attentive to both Erin and Nikki since his return from Albany. At the moment, he was sitting next to Erin and trying to make Nikki laugh by making faces at her.

At the other end of the table, Pop was carving a roast. Frank's mom sat next to Pop, looking a bit weary but happy to have him by her side again. Retired, he could have begged off and never returned to the site, but Pop had been down there every day since, working long hours. Next to Betty, Danny and Linda sat close together, and occasionally they exchanged some furtive glances. Something was clearly up between them, but they would let the rest of the family know in their own good time.

"I want to say something," Frank began. "Our family has been very fortunate this week…" heads nodded all around the table, "and I feel very, very grateful to be able to sit here with all of you now. Why don't we all say grace?"

Hands were grasped around the table. "Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord, Amen." When the sign of the cross was made, Frank saw Linda give Danny a small nudge. "_**Now**_," she mouthed.

Danny nodded. "Look – I've –_**we've**_ made a decision," In the instant before Danny spoke again, a cold hand gripped Frank's heart as he realized what his son was about to say. "I've enlisted in the Marine Corps."

Mary's hands flew to her throat. "Oh Danny, NO!"

Danny looked at his mother, and in his eyes was a plea for understanding. She fell silent. "Somebody has to make that bastard bin Laden pay for what happened. I want to step up."

The hand around Frank's heart did not let go, and he knew it wouldn't until Danny was a civilian again, but pride overrode the fear. He and Mary had always taught their kids to "step up" whenever there was a need. Danny was only doing what he had been taught to do.

Mary seemed to be thinking the same thing. "When do you leave?"

"About 10 days. I'm gonna finish the week's tour, then we're gonna pack up the apartment…we were kinda hoping Linda and Jack could live with you until I come home – to save money."

"You don't even have to ask," Mary said.

"What about the job?" Joe asked, but before Danny could say anything, Pop spoke. "The NYPD will freeze his position until he comes home, then be better off for having a veteran in the rank!"

Frank finally found his voice. "We're proud of you, son…just come home safe…"

"Will do, Dad."

They turned to their meal, a little quieter, except for a few ragged breaths, and ate as a family one more time.

Jack continued to play with his little plastic hammer.

**Sunday, September 11, 2011**

Frank Reagan looked around the dinner table at his family. Danny and Linda had returned from their weekend away just a few minutes ago. Now, they were holding hands and grinning at each other like a couple of teenagers. Frank was glad to see the strength of that relationship. At the same time, he glanced at his daughter, Erin, to see how she was taking this show of closeness, but she seemed genuinely happy for them. _Damn you, John Boyle!_

The usual bickering started over who would have the honor of saying grace. When Frank looked at Pop, he saw his own sorrow mirrored there. He interrupted the bickering. "I would like to say grace…but first…I want us to take a moment to remember…Ten years ago today, we got up and went about our daily lives as we always had before. We thought nothing would ever change. We were proven wrong. The world changed that day, and we changed with it." He took a deep breath. "We came way too close to losing most of this family that day. And we _**have**_ lost a few in the ten years since then. Every adult here risked their lives just being in the city that day, and I want to say now how proud I am of each and every one of you."

Erin, tears in her eyes, whispered," All I did was come home to Nikki." Nikki put her head on her Mom's shoulder.

"Mom, think of all the daughters and mothers who didn't make it home. Grandpa told me about your trip on that motorcycle that day. What you did was a miracle."

"Nikki, you're right. What your Mom did was a miracle. Those streets were impassable, but she made it home to you and us, anyway."

Frank then turned to his oldest son. "Danny, I cannot tell you how proud I am of the work you did that day, then going to Iraq to serve your country. And when you came home, you chose to serve this city again. Thank you, son."

He didn't give Danny time to reply, but turned to Danny's wife. "Linda – I have heard you say time and time again that you wish you had done more. You held your post." He deliberately emphasized each word. "You did your duty, and when all is said and done, that's the very definition of a hero."

Linda blushed and reached out one arm to touch Jack and Sean, whose eyes were shining with pride.

"No matter where your heart was pulling you, when the attack came, you did your duty." He suddenly remembered a story he had once read. "One of the bravest things I ever heard about was during World War Two. Glenn Miller and his band were playing a concert in England for wounded soldiers and nurses. Right in the middle of the concert, an air raid siren went off. Everyone ducked or ran for cover. The planes went over, bombs dropped and explosions went off. When the noise was over, people began to raise their heads again – and saw Miller and the band still in place, standing tall and playing. They never missed a note. What do you think that did for those people? All he did was his duty, Linda. What do you think it did for those people who made it to the hospital and saw your beautiful face…just doing your duty?"

Now it was Jamie's turn to feel his father's eyes on him. "Jamie, I know Danny busts your chops, saying your Mom is turning over in her grave over you becoming a cop, but there's something I've never told you…Your mother knew you would. That day, Erin came home and told her what you were doing. But it wasn't until your pal David came and talked to us that Sunday that we got the full story. That night, after we went to bed, she looked at me and said, "Jamie's not going to become a lawyer, is he?"

Jamie's eyes went wide. "I promised her that you would go to law school. I was trying to hedge my bets, but you know your Mom…'he isn't going to be a lawyer, is he, Frank?' she said. I finally told her 'no, honey, he isn't. He's a born NYPD cop.' She cried awhile and I held her, then she smiled and said that she always knew law school was too much to ask of a Reagan."

Frank paused for a moment. "She said she was very proud of all our kids…and we still are."

If everyone around the table thought he was through, they were wrong. He turned his attention to the end of the table, where his father was carving a roast. "Pop, every time I looked up that day, you were there."

"Where else would I be?"

"I know. But, your hip was hurting, your pride was hurting and still – you were there every time I needed you. You helped me then, just like you have my whole life. You found Joe when I thought we had lost him in the Tower. Thank you, Pop, for everything."

"You're welcome, Francis."

"Now, I would like to propose a toast…" He raised his glass and sat for just a few heartbeats as everyone else raised theirs as well. "To those who are no longer with us - those we lost on 9/11 and those we have lost since…we will always miss you…we will always remember…"

_**The End**_


End file.
